To Avalon, the sorrowed isle,
Let the barge in mourning glide.
In veils and weeds of sable flow,
A lord’s attendants weep and bide.
By weary waters’ mirrored style
The world’s bereaved and darkens, so.

Weeping Avalon prepare
The king of shining towers’ bier
Sing the dirge’s plaintive air
Cross the sombre-ruffled mere.


From Camelot, the shining tower,
Let the clocks be snuffed tonight.
In dimming of the wuthered fire,
The stricken court is dowsed of light.
By sighing eve and blighted hour,
Death encompass Mordred’s ire.


Weeping Avalon perceive,
The king of golden ages’ sleeps.
Play the role that shall deceive
Mourners watching by the deeps.


From Merlin’s cave, the golden age,
Let the crystal gloaming shine.
Tintagel waits in quiet frame
For these centuries of thine
To write it large on mythic page,
So score it now in Arthur’s name.


Weeping Avalon arise,
And guide the king to silent rest.
Legend waits behind his eyes,
Embrace him, island of the blessed.
Hold him near you grieving queens,
Clasp the hour’s opaque façade-
Sleep while memory yet greens,
In death’s uncertain being, starred.